


Suicide of a God

by AuthorUnknown



Category: Abrahamic Religions, The Prince of Egypt (1998)
Genre: Angst, But not covert either I don't think, I guess if you squint really hard you could find something between Moses and Miriam?, M/M, Pesach | Passover, Philosophy, That would probably qualify as GSA, The slash is not particularly overt, Theology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-30
Updated: 2017-07-30
Packaged: 2018-12-08 19:38:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11653341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuthorUnknown/pseuds/AuthorUnknown
Summary: What say you? will you yield, and this avoid, / Or, guilty in defence, be thus destroy'd?





	Suicide of a God

            It was just before dawn on the thirteenth of the month, and Moses stood diffidently outside the pharaoh’s chamber.  Ramesses stood facing the wall, studying the reliefs of his father and grandfather, as though to steel himself for his own pogrom against the Hebrews.  Moses was wondering whether to announce himself when Ramesses broke the silence.  Without turning around he asked, ‘Did I not tell you that the next time you saw my face you would die?’

            Moses took the opportunity to step into the chamber before replying.  After a moment’s thought, ‘Well then I suppose I’m safe, as long as you don’t turn around’.  The ghost of a smile played about his lips before he continued, ‘And that’s why I came to see you now, before your attendants come to you.  You don’t need to be pharaoh yet today; you can be the man you were.  You can be the man I loved’.

            Ramesses sighed through his nose—but still did not turn around.  ‘Why have you come again, Moses?  To beg mercy for your people?’

            ‘Yes.  But not for the Hebrews.  For our people.  For the Egyptians.’

            Ramesses frowned and began to turn, but stopped himself.  ‘“Our” people?  I would have thought that after all you’d done, even you wouldn’t have the audacity to claim kinship with us!’

            ‘This was my home, Ramesses!  These were _my_ people who have suffered for your arrogance.  How dare you question that?’

            ‘Then how _am_ I to interpret all of this?!’  At this point, he did turn around, and Moses flinched away from him.  ‘If it isn’t about Egypt, what is it about?  Is it something I did, all those years ago?  Or maybe it’s what Father did, raising you as prince, but always in the knowledge that you could never have the throne?  Is the Crown of the Two Lands really worth all this?’  He sighed again before spitting out, ‘How long had you hated me in secret before you ran away’?

            Moses backed away, speaking slowly and deliberately in an attempt to calm his brother, ‘I did not come here today to fight.  I did not come back to Egypt to fight.  You know me far too well to truly believe that.  I would have been more likely to fight you to _avoid_ becoming pharaoh than to steal it away from you.  I never wanted to be a leader; I never wanted any of this.’

            At this point the anger largely evaporated from Ramesses face, replaced by hurt and confusion.  He collapsed on a nearby seat and rubbed his face.  ‘I do know you, Moses.  Or at least I did.  But that only makes this even more confusing.’

            Moses cautiously approached.  ‘Then listen to me.  You plan to slay the firstborn sons of all the Hebrews tomorrow, but that will not happen.  Tonight, the firstborn sons of all Egypt will die, including yours, unless you relent.’

            Ramesses’ eyes narrowed.  ‘If you came here to enlist my sympathy, threatening my child is not the best tactic.’

            Moses let out a sigh of frustration.  ‘No!  You don’t-’  Here he sighed again before continuing, ‘You still don’t understand.  I’m not threatening anyone!  I’m trying to help you.  G~d will do to your people tonight whatever it is you plan to do to His tomorrow.  And right now you plan to commit the same crime your father and grandfather committed against them.’

            Ramesses’ voice hardened again.  ‘Then let him.  Let this fight continue, one god-king against another, until one of us has no worshipers remaining!’

            Moses frowned.  ‘And after everything you’ve seen, do you seriously believe you can win?’

            ‘Why not?  There are still far more Egyptians than Hebrews.  Simple attrition will go in my favour, in the end.  Your little tricks are visually impressive, but not nearly as efficiently lethal as a single sharp khopesh.’

            At this point, Moses turned away.  ‘The brother I knew would not be so blasé about the death and suffering of his own people.’

            Without hesitation, Ramesses responded, ‘Nor would the brother _I_ knew.’

            The silence stretched out for some time.

            Dawn’s pale fingers had stretched far enough that Ramesses began to be concerned that one of his attendants might enter soon when Moses tried a different tactic.  ‘If you will not have mercy on your people, at least have mercy on your son.  There is a way to protect him.  Today, each Hebrew household has been commanded to slaughter and eat a lamb, spreading its blood on the lintels of their doors, and by this means they will escape judgement.  If you do this as well, the Angel of Death will pass over your household, sparing your child.’

            ‘And just what do you propose that I tell the priesthood and the people about the bloodstains on the palace gates?’

            ‘You’re their king; why would you need to tell them anything?’

            ‘Wrong.  I’m not just their king; I’m their god.  To do as you suggest would be to prostrate myself before a foreign god and beg for mercy, an act from which neither I nor my dynasty could ever recover.  I will not bow to a god of shepherds, no matter how many horrors he visits upon my land.’

            Footsteps were echoing in a nearby corridor when Moses nodded in resignation.  ‘Perhaps Father should have talked about brittle links as often as he talked about weak ones.’

            ‘Just go.  Before I’m forced to have you killed.’

            Late that afternoon found Moses once again skulking about one of the palace’ lesser-known entryways, waiting for a patrol to pass.  Just as he was about to step out of his hiding place to approach the doorway, he felt a hand on his arm and was surprised to hear Miriam hissing at him, ‘What are you doing?  You’re supposed to be at home, helping with preparations.’  Not until this point did she notice what her brother was carrying: an improvised brush made of an herb and a bucket of blood. 

            Without looking at her, Moses continued forward and set to work.  ‘Saving my nephew’s life.’

            Putting on an expression of confusion, she said, ‘If your intent is to help Nadab, I really don’t see what good visiting the palace is going to do.  Let alone painting its door.’

            ‘You know perfectly well that I’m not talking about Aaron’s son.’

            She paused for a moment.  She had known, of course, but she hadn’t expected him to get to the point so quickly.  ‘You really still consider him your brother?  After everything he’s done to us, to your family and people?’

            He resisted the urge to point out that if he didn’t, they wouldn’t be having this conversation.  ‘Is it really so different than your attitude toward me?  I did all the same things to you that he did, but you forgave me.  Actually, you forgave me before I even figured out I needed to ask your forgiveness; why else would you have approached me that night, before I even learned who I was?  You forgave me because you loved me without condition.  I love him without condition.  And I’ll do anything I can to save his child’s life, even against his will.’

            Miriam sighed in resignation before producing a brush of her own and setting to work beside him.  ‘You know this isn’t going to work, right?’

            ‘If it’s so hopeless, why are you helping me?’

            ‘Because it’s important to you.  And that means I have to try, even if I don’t think it will work.’  After a pause, she continued in a more playful tone, ‘And if you don’t finish before the guards come back, I’ll have to break you out of the dungeon, which will be very inconvenient.’

            After a few moment’s silence, he asked, ‘Why don’t you think it will work?  Do we need to paint all the doorways, not just the least heavily-guarded one?’

            At this, Miriam rolled her eyes.  ‘I really don’t think that will make any difference.  No matter how much blood we spread on its lintels, I quite doubt that the Angel of Death is likely to confuse Ramesses’ palace with a slave’s hovel.  The blood isn’t there to help G~d tell the difference between Hebrew dwellings and Egyptian dwellings.  It’s an act of faith.  Those who paint their doorposts believe that G~d will pass through the land tonight, and that He will spare them if they put faith in him.  We’ve spent weeks telling the Egyptians this, but all of them still believe that their god-king will save them.  If any of them do believe and place the blood on their doors, they will be spared, and any faithless Hebrews shall not be.  Painting someone else’s doorway won’t work because it isn’t the blood that matters; it’s the faith of the people within.’

            By this time, they’d finished painting the doorway and were retreating before any guards could catch them.  Miriam glanced at the bucket her brother was still carrying and said, ‘There’s still some blood left.  Do you want to try to find another infrequently-patrolled gate?’

            Moses thought for a moment before shaking his head.  He glanced around and pointed to a random house on a nearby street.  ‘Let’s paint that one instead.  I think you’re right, but I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t try to save as many as I could.’

**Author's Note:**

> I was inspired to write this by a sermon I heard recently. Actually, at this point, it's been several months; it was Maundy Thursday, talking about the Mass, and it got me thinking about Passover, as the prototype of the Sacrament. Somehow the fic didn't come together fully until just now, after re-watching The Prince of Egypt. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed; for once, I'm actually largely pleased with one of my works, even if it does end rather abruptly. If you are also pleased--or not, for that matter--I'd love to hear about it in the comments. Thank you for reading.


End file.
